How Arnold Palmer Ruined My Night: A Ballad of Rage

BACKSTORY: I was at Arnold Palmer's shmancy restaurant and I had been looking forward to it all day because my favorite drink in the world is an Arnold Palmer, so my expectations were high. Here are the events as they took place...

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I sit down and order my Arnie Palmie, glimmering excitement still resting in my heart.

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I wait.

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I speculate.

Will it be black tea? Passion tea?? Mixed? Separated? Will there be a SUGARED RIM?!? I'm at the birthplace of the beverage for God's sake. My mind is running wild.

Don't be misled by the aesthetically pleasing photo because the content within it is fucking garbage. Damn it, Arnie, you trolled me so hard, you old bastard.

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Phase one of rage.

Bottled-ass, sorry excuse for a refreshing handcrafted beverage, bullshit. That's some 7/11 shit (no disrespect). Filthiest plot twist of my life since the ending of Seven. John, you turncoat bastard, I fucking trusted you. How dare you serve this classless plastic bottle to me with a straight face. I never, in my life, imagined that my respect for Arnold Palmer would plummet so rapidly and with such fury. How you gonna serve that Brisk™ level trash in your own house? (no disrespect to Brisk™)

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Lightening strikes twice.

The second wave of hatred came when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw...

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Phase two of rage: The Resurgence.

LITE?!? Is this funny to you, Arnie? Is this a game to you? I didn't ask for 1/3 less calories, I asked for 100% of the calories and to be respected as a human being. I feel like I bought tickets for The Rolling Stones and Hoobastank walked on stage (no disrespect to Hoobastank).

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The lobster mac and cheese barely made up for the obscene behavior I was subjected to tonight, but seriously, Arnie, if you're listening, hook a homie up with some Masters tickets. 🙏🏼